


Relieving

by Nemainofthewater



Series: dragon!Jaskier [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Ciri is worried, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Jaskier is unconscious, but very unconscious, cw broken bones, dragon!Jaskier, jaskier is present technically, medical talk, mousesack is doing his best, set between chapters 11 and 12 of Shining, shining!verse, won't make a lot of sense if you haven't read shining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23146750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: Ciri brings Mousesack a most unusual patient. A baby dragon.Set between chapters 11 and 12 of Shining, aka Jaskier's first few hours in Cintra.
Relationships: Ermion | Mousesack & Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon
Series: dragon!Jaskier [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623493
Comments: 73
Kudos: 1073





	Relieving

**Author's Note:**

> The story that literally no one asked for, but which I wanted to write... 😅
> 
> Warnings for discussions of broken bones and other injuries, descriptions of sepsis and infection, references to animal cruelty, references to death
> 
> This probably won't make a lot of sense if you haven't read Shining!

“Mousesack!”

Mousesack, druid, healer, and the closest thing that Cintra has to a mage, looks up. He’s in the palace gardens which- as clichéd as it is- have become his sanctuary and his domain in the decade or so that he’s been settled in the city.

Princess Cirilla stands before him, her golden hair luminescent in the late afternoon sun. She has a determined look on her face, one that Mousesack is well acquainted with. He has seen it on Pavetta’s face, on her newborn daughter Ciri’s face the first time Eist held her and the minutes before she vomited all over his tunic, on the young princess’ face whenever she convinced him to ‘sneak’ down to the kitchen to liberate them of her favourite pastries… It is not a look that bodes well for anyone.

“Princess,” he says, getting to his feet and casting his poor plants a rueful look. No doubt it will be a fair while before he manages to get back to them. Still. Such is the life of an almost-but-not-officially Court Mage.

“I need your help,” Ciri says, and with a flash of alarm Mousesack realises that the reddish stains on her dress- which he had assumed were river-mud- might actually be the rust red of old blood.

“Are you injured-” he starts, surging forward to check- but she is already shaking her head.

“No,” she says. “Not me. But- there’s someone that I need you to help-”

Ah. Of course. The number of small birds that the princess had brought to him over the years- enough to fill a royal aviary were they not released once they were well. Recently she had taken to bringing him larger animals- small rodents, a litter of premature kittens, one memorable time a baby foal…

“Well then, princess,” Mousesack says. “Lead the way.”

#  
  


It is not a baby foal. No, looking at the still form lying on the princess’ bed (and incidentally staining the sheets with blood), it is most definitely not a foal. Or, despite its wings, a bird. Though Mousesack has never seen one before, he is quite certain in his assessment that this is a _golden dragon._ Small though- so very small, no larger than a dog, and curled in on itself, shivering. There’s a bright silk scarf carefully wrapped around one wing and its body, immobilising it.

“I think he’s broken his wing,” Ciri says. “I tried to splint it, but I don’t know what to do.”

“You did the best you could, princess,” Mousesack replies absently, moving forward and running careful eyes over it- him? The bright blue of the scarf is distracting, but now that he’s closer he can see that the dragon has been through a lot. There are darkened patches that show through the gold scale- probably bruises- and small cuts littering his entire body and what he can see of his unbound wing. His tail looks strange; kinked at an unnatural angle, and leaning in, Mousesack can see that there’s swelling and the first hints of what might turn out to be even more impressive bruising.

“What happened to his tail?”

Ciri scowls, red rising to her cheeks. She looks a moment away from stamping her feet in frustration, only forbearing due to her extensive (and only partially listened-to) etiquette lessons.

“One of grandmother’s soldiers,” she says. Mousesack looks back at the swelling. It looks the right shape for a man’s hand.

“Ah,” Mousesack says. “The soldier-?”

Ciri scowls even harder. “I wanted him to be sent away,” she mutters. “Fazdir is always doing that- being cruel! Unnecessarily cruel. But grandmother said that he was only obeying his princess.”

Her voice is low and mutinous. Evidently she doesn’t think that that is a good enough reason. Oh dear. She appears to have bonded fast, already. Carefully, Mousesack lays a hand on the dragon’s flank. The dragon’s scales as surprisingly soft, the texture not unlike the velvet feel of a rose petal, but- Even he, with his limited knowledge of dragon physiology, suspects that they should not be quite this warm. Slowly, taking care not to jostle the wound too much, Mousesack runs a light hand over the injured wing, wincing as he feels the jagged edge of bone. Infection. Almost certainly.

The dragon whimpers, trying to move away from Mousesack’s hand, then flinches as the movement pulls at his injured wing. He does not, however, wake up.

“Princess,” Mousesack says carefully. “I’m afraid that the dragon is- His injuries are quite severe. I would not want you to get too attached, in case-”

“No!” Ciri stares at him, pleadingly. “Please, he can’t die, Mousesack. Please. He’s just a baby. That’s not fair!”

“There are many things that aren’t fair in this world, Ciri,” Mousesack says gently. He looks down. And sighs. The dragon is very young. It seems monstrously cruel for him to have defied all odds and expectations just by existing, only to die of an infected wing. “I will, however, do my best.”

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” The princess throws her arms around him, hugging tightly.

“Yes,” Mousesack says, stroking her golden hair and sighing. He suspects that he’s just laid in a world of trouble for himself. He squeezes her back, and then pulls away.

“Time is of the essence,” he says, firmly. “Princess, if you could alert the physician that I have need of some of his stocks, I would be grateful. And perhaps get one of your grandmother’s men to help me transport the dragon to my chambers.” He pauses. “Perhaps not Fazdir,” he says, delicately.

“I will!” Ciri says, a determined look in her eyes. “But- why can’t you look after him in the infirmary? There’s plenty of space.”

Mousesack thinks of the fortune that a dragon, any dragon, represents. Even a baby one. He strives to think of his fellows as fundamentally good and honest people- but it is better not to dangle temptation in front of their noses.

“My old bones can’t handle the infirmary beds,” is what he says instead. “And your dragon will need a lot of care before he’s well again.” _If he ever is._

Ciri hesitates by the door. “I could help you?” she offers. “Look after Jaskier, I mean.”

Mousesack blinks. Because surely, he must have misheard. “Jaskier?”

“The dragon!”

Apparently not.

“You’ve decided to name him Jaskier?”

“No,” Ciri says, looking at him as if he were the slowest being on the Continent. “His _name_ is Jaskier, Mousesack.”

Perhaps she had decided to name him for the colour of his scales. There’s no possibility that she would have heard news of Geralt’s bard; Queen Calanthe had banned all mention of him in Cintra. Nothing related to the Witcher was to pass through these walls, and that included his strangely named companions. Though considering his own name, he was hardly in the position to cast stones.

In any case, there are more important things to think of than an amusing coincidence. “You will help me,” he says. “By getting a guard to move him to my quarters and bringing my message to the physician. I am afraid that I will work better on my own, Ciri- I can’t have you distracting me at a critical moment.”

Mousesack feels a pang of regret at the way the princess’ face falls at his words, but he stands fast. He doesn’t want her to see the dragon die. He cannot shield her from either life’s cruelties or her own future responsibilities, but he can spare her this one thing.

Ciri nods at him. Then hesitates and- tuns over to the dragon, pressing a kiss on his brow. “Get better soon, Jaskier,” she says. Then she darts out the door.

Mousesack sighs. It will be a few minutes at least before the promised help arrives.

“Well,” he says, addressing the still shivering form of the dragon. “I suppose we had better get to work.”

Then he approaches the bed once again and, gently laying a hand on the dragon- on Jaskier- he closes his eyes and sends exploratory tendrils of magic out. A badly broken wing. Multiple contusions and scratches. A dislocated tail. Nothing unexpected. The infection though-

He can feel its poison running through the dragon’s system, his own body’s attempts to fight back worsening the danger. He has no idea what a healthy dragon should feel like, but- using both his experience as a healer and his own common sense- he wagers that it shouldn’t be anything like this. Not the way that the blood is slowing in his veins, depriving his body of badly-needed sustenance.

It’s not the worst damage that Mousesack has ever had to heal. But that was on humans, not mythical creatures, and that was definitely not on children. Thank the gods. With another sigh, he opens his eyes. He can hear the distinctive heavy tread of the Cintran royal guard echoing from the open door. Good. The sooner he can get the dragon settled the better.

He has a long night ahead of him.


End file.
